


Mystery Sam

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Chick-Flick Moments, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: "Sam had some serious chick-flick moments due him, and even Dean could admit the need for that. But the kid wasn't taking them. And frankly, Dean was starting to worry."After Broward County, Sam's not making any sense.Reposted from LJ, February 2010.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 289





	Mystery Sam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lissaann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lissaann/gifts).



> For the amazing Lissa, written some ten years ago and posted first to LiveJournal. Hope you enjoy.

Dean wasn't a touchy-feely guy by far. No hugs, no hand holding, nothing. It just wasn't his style. Chick-flick man he wasn't.  
  
He had to admit, though, he wouldn't have minded it. Anything would've been better than how Sam, his usual chick-flick guy, was treating him. Dean sure as hell was expecting something, because c'mon, the guy had watched him die for multiple Tuesdays on end. Sam had some serious chick-flick moments due him, and even Dean could admit the need for that.  
  
But the kid wasn't taking them. And frankly, Dean was starting to worry.  
  
It wasn't even the quirky new habits that Sam had picked up when Dean hadn't been looking. His usual people skills were near to non-existent; no more Mr. Nice Guy, and Dean was left trying to be sympathetic to their witnesses while Sam stood and glared at anything that moved.  
  
Like he was doing right now. His dark, hollow, perpetually angry stare was locked onto Mrs. Pindle, a sweet little old lady who didn't deserve it. She shifted uneasily in her easy chair, and Dean sent her as kind a smile as he could, trying to portray the smile his brother usually gave. “It was bigger than a dog?”  
  
Mrs. Pindle slowly tore her gaze from Sam's glare to Dean's sweet smile and shook herself. “Yes, much bigger than a dog. Horse sized, I would say. But I thought it looked like a dog. It tried to take my Muffin,” she said, glancing over at the fluffy Pomeranian sleeping peacefully in the corner. “Nasty thing; if I hadn't flung my big pan at it, it wouldn't have let Muffin go.”  
  
_Don't name your small dog after food, then,_ Dean thought, but kept his mouth shut. One of them had to stay sympathetic, and with Sam and his angry stare, Dean couldn't afford to be obnoxious. He kept his smile as soft as his voice as he asked, “Did it look like a wolf?”  
  
“No, it didn't,” she said, at the exact same time Sam did. She blinked, surprised. Sam didn't blink, and Dean wasn't surprised, either. It wasn't the first job Sam had done that with: speak at the same time as the witnesses. Or know instinctively details of a hunt he couldn't have known. Dean had asked him if he was having visions again. He'd gotten an odd look for it before Sam had quietly told him no. No more answer beyond that.  
  
Mrs. Pindle was back to staring trepidatiously at Sam's angry glare. “Well, I think that answers all of our questions,” Dean said as cheerfully as he could, pushing himself to standing while grabbing Sam's arm to do the same. “Animal control will take care of the beast.”  
  
“Good, thank you,” she said, putting on a smile. “You boys have, um, a nice day.”  
  
Dean gave a small nod and effectively corralled his brother to the front door, then down to the car. “What is wrong with you?” Dean hissed. “For god's sake, Sam, she's a little old lady!”  
  
“We got the information we needed,” Sam said, voice low and rough. The fact that he was even talking surprised Dean, and it was the only reason his temper died out. Sam didn't really talk at all these days: Broward Country had left its mark on him. Not that Dean blamed him.  
  
But honestly, Dean was kinda hoping for a chick-flick moment. Get it all out in the open, get it over and done with. That would make him the happiest.  
  
He stepped out into the street, then paused as a car drove by. Even as he paused of his own accord, though, Sam's hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back a good five feet from his own safe distance. He stumbled and was easily caught, Sam making sure he was safe. When Dean glanced up at him, he found Sam's eyes wide with terror, fear and sorrow etched on his face.  
  
And _that_ was the other thing that Dean hated. His brother had two modes: the angry stare or the hollow fear-stricken one. Both drove Dean nuts, but there wasn't much he could really do about it. Except try and force Sam into a chick-flick moment, and seriously, when the hell had he become the Sam Winchester of the two of them?  
  
“Sam, I'm all right,” he said, bringing himself to standing. Sam's hands reached automatically to follow him, then two seconds later were jammed stiffly into his pockets. He strode across the road to the car, ignoring Dean completely, and Dean sighed. The kid would ignore him now for the rest of the day, staying distant. Fantastic.  
  
He followed across the road and slid into the driver's side. They were gone a few moments later.  
  
  
  
Not even pizza could entice the kid. Dean was seriously considering that idea of cornering the kid and forcing a chick-flick moment.  
  
Sam was off in the corner, cleaning up one of the rifles. Dean, meanwhile, was taking care of the handgun, making sure all the silver bullets were in place. The moon was right for a werewolf, and it'd be on the prowl tonight, since it hadn't gotten Muffin last night. “You, uh, wanna help with the silver here?” Dean finally asked. “I'm working on blessing them.”  
  
The only sound from Sam was the careful click-click as Sam kept working. Dean bit his lip but tried one more time. “Hey, you know where the axe is? I went looking for it in the trunk but I couldn't find it.” The trunk was organized now, to the point that even John Winchester himself would've been impressed, but the axe was honestly nowhere to be found.  
  
Sam flinched slightly, but that was the only answer Dean got. Dean narrowed his gaze and set the gun down on the table hard. Fine, kid wanted to be this way, he'd get the chick-flick moment he was asking for. “Okay Sammy, spill. What's-”  
  
“It's a Black Shuck,” Sam said. Dean paused, and Sam continued. “Only need a clean shot. Rifle should do it.”  
  
Oh. Which meant that Dean's last hour of prepping the guns with silver bullets was a waste. “Couldn't have told me that before I started messing with the silver?” Dean asked, putting a smile into his tone. “How'd you know it was a Black Shuck?” he added, because his brother wasn't going to be wrong. Sam hadn't been wrong on every hunt for the past three weeks, and Dean wasn't going to start doubting him now.  
  
No matter how the kid knew, which Dean fully intended on finding out, but it wasn't going to be tonight: Sam was too distant again.  
  
“Big as a horse, black, glowing eyes, dog-shaped.”  
  
Even more words out of him: Dean started actually hoping. “Aren't they indigenous to Britain?”  
  
“Came to Britain via the Vikings, who also landed here. Not too much of a leap to think they'd come here too.”  
  
Dean grinned. He didn't think Sam had talked that much in the past week. Maybe he was actually get somewhere with the kid: maybe Sam was finally starting to snap out of his funk. “Cool. There's pizza up here, y'know: you haven't had even a single slice and dude, you know me, I'll just eat it all.”  
  
And just like that, he watched Sam shut down. His shoulders dropped and his lips flattened out until all Dean could see was a shell acting as a wall between him and his little brother. Hollow eyes turned to meet him. “Not hungry,” Sam said. He set the rifle aside and reached for the second one. “Need to leave soon.”  
  
If he lost any more words, Sam would be down to caveman grunts. “Yeah, that works,” Dean muttered, pushing the full pizza box away. Wasn't like he had much of a stomach these days, either.  
  
What the hell was _up_ with the kid? Yeah, okay, losing Dean over and over again was bound to mess with your head. But Dean was here, and he made sure that Sam knew it. Dirty laundry left in the corner, balled up socks bounced carefully off of his ramrod back, morning greeting with a fresh cup of coffee. Hell, even porn on the computer. Everything to let Sam know that Dean was still there.  
  
Except it wasn't working. Sam would ignore him, keep him at a distance, do everything except acknowledge him as his brother. The only time Sam actually got personally involved was when Dean's life was even the slightest bit in danger, from walking across the road to being approached by dogs on leashes. And then Sam would get that horrified look on his face and cling to Dean like he'd never let go.  
  
Problem was that he would, and it'd start up all over again. Rinse, repeat. And Dean was getting tired of it.  
  
Bringing it up before a hunt was stupid, though. They had to focus, and if they were hunting a Black Shuck, Dean was getting prepared in all the wrong ways. He headed out to the car to find his boots and Sam's.  
  
After the hunt, though. He'd talk to Sam after. Because enough was enough.  
  
  
  
Sam led with a surety that Dean had come to notice on the recent hunts. It was honestly like he'd seen it happen before, knew _exactly_ where the creature would be, so they could waste it efficiently. Most hunts didn't take more than ten minutes, these days.  
  
But Sam had seemed to be giving him a real, truthful answer when he'd said he wasn't getting visions anymore. Which left Dean baffled and puzzled and bewildered and everything else that spelled confused. Sam would talk after this hunt, though.  
  
Sam was moving swiftly now, and Dean hurried to catch up. The area near Mrs. Pindle's property was pretty much all lake and marsh, which was why she'd put up the fence in the first place. It hadn't deterred the Black Shuck a damn bit, not when Muffin had probably been yapping and all but inviting the Black Shuck to dinner. (Or, you know, appetizer. Muffin wasn't all that big.)  
  
So Dean had had the foresight to grab boots for the both of them. Sam had seemed surprised when Dean had brought them back in, and there'd been a small moment of enjoyment over baffling Sam with his own secret wisdom. It hadn't lasted, because Sam had then taken his boots and gone back to ignoring Dean, but hey, Dean had had his moment. And there was always the chick-flick moment Dean was totally going to insist upon after the hunt.  
  
Sam paused, and Dean nearly ran into him, so lost in his thoughts. There was a rustling of trees to their right, and Dean moved carefully in that direction, watching his footing. A hand caught his shoulder and pulled him back, and there was Sam looking anxiously at him again. “Just...just hang back for a minute, all right?” Sam whispered. “We've got the advantage here with the solid ground and the moonlight. Don't go wandering off into the forest on your own.”  
  
“Kinda figured you'd be right behind me,” Dean said, raising his eyebrow at Sam's words and the fact that his brother had spoken that many at all. Sam still had yet to let go of his shoulder, and Dean felt both eyebrows raise.  
  
In the moonlight Dean could see his brother's cheeks flush. “I'm fine,” he muttered defensively. Ah, so he could sense his impending chick-flick doom.  
  
“No, you're not. This is the distinct opposite of fine, Sammy. We have to talk.”  
  
Except not at that moment, not when the Black Shuck was suddenly coming out of the darkness to loom over them. Dean pulled his rifle to fire, then found himself being shoved to the ground. And there was Sam, rifle raised to take the shot, and Dean _really_ shouldn't have been all that surprised. Of course the kid would throw him out of the way.  
  
What neither of them had expected was for the Black Shuck to turn from Sam to Dean, and Dean was ready for it, he really was, except his rifle was pinned under him from the fall, and even as he scrambled to lift it, the Black Shuck was almost on top of him.  
  
A rifle shot went off, and the Black Shuck was pushed far to the side with a howl. Dark blood glistened on its side from one perfect shot, but it only turned back towards Sam, hatred in its eyes. Sam was reloading, his chest heaving and his fingers trembling, and Dean didn't even think. He was up and flying towards Sam even as the Black Shuck began to move back as well.  
  
Sam fumbled, just like Dean had thought he would, desperate to reload. He looked up and in the split-second it took for him to see Dean and the Black Shuck moving towards him, his mouth dropped open in horror. “ _NO!_ ” he screamed, but Dean was already there, shoving him down and falling with him. He grabbed the rifle from Sam's hand, reloaded it fast, then turned and fired.  
  
The bullet hit home straight between the eyes, and the Black Shuck dropped like a huge-ass stone. The heavy sound that rattled the ground was the only sound. Everything fell even more silent after that.  
  
Then Sam grabbed at him to fumble and feel for wounds. “I'm fine,” Dean said with a toss of the rifle. Dad would've killed him for being so careless, but then again, Dad would've killed him for letting Sam get so wound up for so long. “Sammy, I'm _fine_. More concerned about you, actually.”  
  
That made Sam pause. “What do you mean? I'm fine.”  
  
Dean pushed himself up to sitting. The moonlight let him see the instinctive terror that had been on Sam's face fading away, leaving him looking hollow once more. “You wanna do this here or back at the motel room?” Dean asked.  
  
This only confused Sam further. “Do what?”  
  
“The chick-flick moment,” Dean said simply, and sure enough, Sam's face began to close off. “Nuh-uh, no, we're doing this.”  
  
“I don't need-”  
  
“Well maybe I do,” Dean cut in, and it hurt, it physically hurt to watch Sam's face crumble like that, but dammit, it had to be done. He didn't like pulling that particular line very often, making it all about himself, but sometimes it was the only way to reach Sam.  
  
At least his brother wasn't pushing the idea away anymore. “What's going on with you?” he said bluntly. Subtleties weren't going to work with him anymore.  
  
And even there, Sam was defensive. “Don't know what you mean.”  
  
“You don't look particularly confused,” Dean said with a raised eyebrow. “In fact, you're looking the same way you did today at Mrs. Pindle, or the Wilmingtons last week, or any of the other cases we've taken. You're sullen and closed off and you glare at anything that gets within a ten inch radius of me. It's either that or you're freaked out, which is exactly how you were right before the Black Shuck attacked.”  
  
“And you need this moment exactly why again?” Sam made to push himself up, but Dean grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down with a little more force than was necessary. He hit the ground with a heavy exhale, then immediately glared at Dean.  
  
Dean had no trouble glaring back. “Because you're spinning out of control and it's affecting me. You're either angry and ignoring me, or you're so concerned you attach yourself like freakin' duct tape. And I don't know what to do,” Dean admitted. He could feel himself switching from accusatory to damn near begging. “I don't know what to do anymore, Sammy. You won't talk to me, and I know Florida was bad, dude, I do, but-”  
  
“No.”  
  
Dean wanted to really slap his brother sometimes. “Don't shut me out like that,” he said, anger and frustration returning. “Don't _do_ that-”  
  
“No, I mean...you don't know how bad Florida was,” Sam said softly, almost defeated. It was enough for Dean to completely deflate, the anger knocked out of him in one strong gust. Sam kept his eyes on the forest floor, looking a million miles away. He looked haunted and hollow again, steel and knives that kept everyone out, and it made Dean want to shiver.  
  
Then he began to speak. The most horrific tale Dean had ever heard was poured out in a soft, monotonous tone, Sam's eyes stuck on the grassy ground. How Dean had died, permanently, Wednesday morning. Bled out in Sam's arms, Sam not even having the chance to say goodbye. How he'd burned Dean with Bobby's help, then had left, disappearing and falling off the radar. Hunting on his own, getting shot and bit and ripped to pieces. Sewing himself back up, hunting some more. Staying away from everyone, eventually buying one bed instead of two. Killing the fake-Bobby who wound up being the Trickster, and months of pain finally getting to end.  
  
Everything made more sense, obviously, on the literal level. Why Sam knew the ins and outs of every single hunt they'd taken lately. How he knew where to go, who to talk to (for Dean's benefit apparently, more than anything else).  
  
But it was on the deeper level that Dean finally understood why Sam was the way he was. Sam couldn't function with people because he hadn't for so long. The ignoring Dean was deeply rooted in months of solitude and anger at the Trickster, grief over having lost his brother for so long. He got that.  
  
And he got the fear of losing Dean, the anxiety each time Dean took a breath Sam hadn't watched, because Sam _had_ lost him. Permanently. It hadn't been a reset: he'd lost him for good, and he knew how it felt.  
  
By the time he was done, Sam was still staring at the ground, his voice still the same. The only thing different was that his hands shook, and his eyes glistened in the moonlight. One tear finally leaked over the edge and trickled down his face, and it went unnoticed by Sam, definitely noticed by Dean. The kid was falling apart at the seams, and didn't know the first way of how to get back to even their definition of normal.  
  
And yeah, he wasn't a chick-flick guy by a long way. But Sam had more than earned his moment; hell, he'd earned more than one of them. Sam deserved a tub of ice cream and a chick-flick movie and tears that didn't stop.  
  
He didn't move, though. And Dean pushed himself forward, because even if Sam refused to take his moment, Dean definitely needed one.  
  
Sam startled when Dean pulled him into his embrace, and his muffled, very confused, “Dean?” only made Dean hold on tighter. He sounded completely perplexed, little brother lost, and Dean felt like his chest couldn't twist any further.  
  
“I'm here now,” Dean said softly. Maybe six feet away from a dead Black Shuck, knees cold from the ground below him, moonlight casting through the trees, but he was there.  
  
And when Sam tentatively, _finally_ , held on back, Dean was still there to hold.  
  
  
  
Sam didn't take too many more chick-flick moments. He'd say random things, painful things about when he'd been alone, things that weren't matter of fact but more what he'd felt like over those months. Dean would simply listen, make sure he was touching in some way to let Sam know he was there. Sam had even hugged him once, and Dean had held on as tightly as he had the night of the Black Shuck.  
  
Still, it didn't happen all that much. Gradually, though, Sam began to lose the angry stare, the hollow look. The anxiousness took a little while longer to fade, but it started to disappear as well. Little by little, piece by piece, Sam started to come back. The chick-flick moments definitely helped.  
  
By Dean's count, though, Sam hadn't taken nearly as many chick-flick moments as he could. “Want one?” Dean said as he came back from paying for gas. When Sam glanced over the top of the car at him, Dean kept his arms wide open.  
  
Sam actually laughed. “And how many more of those do I get?” he asked, and the small smile stayed on his face.  
  
Dean shrugged. “By my count, only a few more. Don't want you to get too spoiled or anything.” When he met Sam's gaze again, though, he knew he wasn't really fooling his brother. The answer was a clear, _As many as you need._  
  
Sam's smile turned a little sad, a remnant of the grief Dean would never be able to erase. Still, when Sam rolled his eyes, Dean counted it as a victory.  
  
And when Sam called over the top of the Impala, “Walking chick-flick moment,” Dean knew things would be okay.  
  
END


End file.
